Day 7- One week old and looking good!

A year ago today Jonathan had made it a week!  That means that by every account, he was official. And it meant maybe he would live. He had had a week of milk, off and on, and hadn't gotten that terrible bowel thing that kills preemies. (For those just tuning in -- I'd read a blog about a baby born at 23 weeks when I was just about to deliver my baby. That baby had died shortly after they'd introduced milk to his diet so this was my biggest fear for my son.  I'd find out later that that bowel thing was called Necrotizing Enterocolitis.)

The breathing machine had his lungs. His heart had always been able to beat -- and ever since they got his blood pressure under control, that was working. And he was eating. And starting, after falling to 485 grams (1 lb 1oz), finally starting to gain weight again.  His blood ph levels had been a little off, but had gone back to normal. He had had a brain ultrasound and it had revealed no brain b
leeds.

Things were looking good.

His umblilical line had closed.  Up until this point, they'd been able to use his umbilical cord as a sort of port, so he hadn't had to be stuck with a needle to administer the perenteral nutrition into his blood that was necessary to sustain him.  So they'd first given him a small IV and then within a few days (when it was clear he wasn't getting the nasty infection I had) he would be given a more stable PICC line to get him IV nutrition.  They were even talking about moving him to a less invasive breathing machine.  Maybe he'd come off the vent.

J is awake here. You can't tell 'cause his eyes are still fused shut.

We got to be a part of his care time for the first time a year ago today. I never thought I'd be so excited to change a diaper. He'd been alive a week and I'd never gotten to try.  His preemie diapers were the smallest size possible, but we still had to fold them down to make them fit.  My wedding band is a small size (less than a six) but it fit his upper arm.

My mom took our girls for the night, and Steve and I celebrated our eighth anniversary at his bedside.

J after care time, tucked in for the night.